


A to Z

by syzygykitty



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Mobtale, Bara Sans, Consent, Cunnilingus, Degradation, Ecto-Genitalia (Undertale), F/M, Hair-pulling, Mafia Sans, Masochism, NSFW, Painplay, Praise Kink, Prostitution, Reader Is Not Frisk, Reader has a vagina, Reader is OC, Reader is a woman, Reader is named, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Smut, can you tell i have a thing for cold kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-08-20 08:23:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8242742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syzygykitty/pseuds/syzygykitty
Summary: You've always known what you wanted, whether it was something as simple as a drink or as complicated as a secret. But then you met him. He took you home. And by the end of it, you weren't sure what you wanted anymore.Please note! This is not a Sans/Reader-insert story! The narrator is named, she has an appearance and personality and all that jazz!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a sucker for Maf Sans.

You see him for the first time in a bar.

It's a vaguely nice bar, the kind that a nervous boyfriend might take someone out on a first date to, if it hadn’t also happened to be in the heart of the monster side of town.

He's wearing a white dress shirt rolled up to the elbows, black pants with narrow white stripes, and nondescript brown shoes. There is a blue suitjacket, as well-made as it is well-worn, slung over the back of the barstool he's sitting at. He wears no watch. His tie is loose and the same color as the jacket. His hands are vaguely dirty.

He isn't visibly drunk, but by the look of the drink he's nursing, he's looking to become so. He doesn't seem upset, exactly – just weary, his head propped in one hand, a finger swiping over the moisture gathering on his glass.

He's about six and a half feet tall, and burly, with wrists you were sure you’d have to use most of two hands to encircle. He is – well. He is big-boned. Literally.

He is a skeleton, and his name is Sans.

***

You’ve made it a point to frequent as many monster bars as human ones, over the course of your (somewhat prolific) career. It was one of the things, you like to think, that set you apart from the competition. There is a shortage of human prostitutes who would do business with monsters, but you prided yourself on being one of the few who didn’t differentiate. The monsters paid in jewelry as often as they paid in cash, but you just kept most of it for yourself anyway. They were just as good, and often better, in bed than your human patrons. They were friendly, and freely shared details of their lives with you, both before and after sex.

To be honest, you hadn’t really dealt in money for some years now. Yes, you still technically charged for your services, but that wasn’t what truly interested you. At the end of the day, what you dealt in was secrets. Of course, it was impossible to do such intimate business with so many people, both human and monster, without picking up a few things. But you had made a true production out of it, and as a result, you were much more well-informed about the thriving underground mafia than anyone would think to look at you.

All of which was to say, you knew exactly who Sans was, and how thoroughly entangled in the mob he was, the moment you laid eyes on him.

This meant three things:

You knew just how dangerous he was.

You didn’t care.

He was going to be yours, one way or another.

***

You noticed people’s clothes. It was something you had been trained to do, a long time ago, but now it was automatic. Clothes could tell you a lot about a person. So it only made sense that you paid just as much attention to what you wore. The dress you were wearing tonight was of your usual caliber: tasteful, but vaguely suggestive. Expensive-looking. Red.

(Red had always been your color. You couldn’t remember exactly when you had become so fixated on it, but now you wore almost nothing else. You had never seen your soul, but you always imagined that it, too, would be red.)

Sans wasn’t looking at you, but as you pushed the door shut behind you, others certainly were. With a confidence born of long practice, you ignore their stares, moving with a dancer’s grace toward the bar where a fire elemental stands, cleaning shot glasses.

You sit a few stools away from Sans and give the bartender a small smile when he looks over at you. “A martini, please,” you tell him, and he studies you for a moment more before turning away to make your drink.

You don't look at Sans, although you certainly want to. Instead, you place your purse on the bar and pull out your lipstick (dark red, of course) and a small mirror, although you already know your makeup is as precisely perfect as it had been when you touched it up half an hour ago.

The sound of the lipstick tube popping open, loud in the relative quiet of the mostly-empty bar, seems to startle Sans from his stupor, and he glances over at you. Good. You make a quiet show out of reapplying it, noting with satisfaction that by the end of it he is openly starting at you.

Finally, you deign to shut the mirror and put away your purse, looking over at him with a quirked eyebrow. “Hi,” you say, taking pleasure in the way he has to pull his sockets away from your mouth.

“hey,” he says, voice low and rough. It sends a wave of ticklish pleasure through you. Now that was a sound you could get used to.

“You’re Sans, right?” you ask him, pretending to be curious.

He looks at you more closely then, clearly wondering how you know his name. His gaze flickers down to your chest for a split second, then back up again. “yup. and you are…?”

“Ava,” you tell him, giving him the name you used when doing business with all your clients. He had looked like he was already smiling, but he grins at that, in a way you could almost feel was genuine. “that so.”

Did he recognize the name? It was possible. You had slept with more than a few people who knew him, and monsters were far more open about sex than humans were. One or more of them could certainly have told him about you. “Looks like it,” you reply, trying and failing to keep the smirk off your lips.

The bartender sets your drink in front of you, and you look away from Sans to shoot the elemental a warmer smile this time, knowing Sans was watching.

“Thank you,” you say sincerely, and take a sip of your drink, suppressing a shiver at the feeling of magic and alcohol sliding down your throat. God, that never got old. The bartender just watches, nodding his head approvingly when you smile again at the taste.

“You must be Grillby,” you say to him, having taken note of the bar’s sign outside. He nods again. “This is truly delicious, I have to say,” you tell him, “but honestly, it’s no surprise. I’ve heard a lot of good things about this place.” You hadn’t, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. And besides, getting on Grillby’s good side, while a nice plus, certainly wasn’t the point here.

You feel a bony hand land on your shoulder and grin internally at Sans’s predictability. “Something the matter, Sans?” you ask neutrally, still keeping your eyes off of him. When had he moved to the stool next to yours, you wondered.

“you could say that, doll,” he says, far closer to your ear than you had anticipated. You jump slightly and turn to him, noting in both pleasure and slight nervousness at the dark look in his eyes. “i’m just wondering what a… lady like yourself is doin’ in a place like this.”

You laugh out loud at that. “Oh, are you? I’m sure you must have a few ideas.”

“maybe I do. don’t mean i don’t wanna hear it from you, too.”

“Mmm. Well. Ask me again at the end of the night, and maybe I’ll answer you then.”

There’s a moment for which he says nothing, and the lights in his eyes go out for a split second, and you think you may have made a serious mistake, and you’re searching for something to say that will make it right, when –

He laughs, real and loud. “count on it, sweetheart.”


	2. Chapter 2

There’s a reason he’s one of the most powerful figures in the underground crime scene of the city, you quickly discover. He’s almost ridiculously intelligent, intelligent enough, in fact, to know how to hide it. He’s _constantly_ cracking awful jokes, staring into space, or pretending not to know what you’re talking about. Some people might find it annoying, but you’re so intrigued you don’t even realize how much time has passed until you look up and find the bar nearly deserted. Grillby is still occupying himself at the other end of the counter with a glass that honestly doesn’t seem all that dirty, but other than that, there’s just a few other monsters still slumping over their drinks.

For your part, you’ve almost forgotten to drink your martini, let alone order another one. Sans doesn’t seem to have had the same problem, but his drinks are interspersed with glass after glass of what, curiously enough, seems to be ketchup.

“so, doll…” Sans says finally, running a finger along the rim of his glass. “i hope you’re not gonna leave me hanging after what ya told me earlier.”

You know exactly what he’s referring to, but you can’t help playing dumb a little, partly out of reflex and partly out of a surprisingly affectionate desire to tease him. How you could have become so emotionally involved in just a few hour’s conversation is something you’ll have to think about later. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, Sans,” you say with an innocent smile.

“that so, sweetheart.” Suddenly, he leans over toward you so that your faces are only inches away. The lights in his eyesockets that pass for pupils are bright, intent, and totally focused on you, a fact which is giving you – oh god. Are those butterflies? Are you legitimately flustered over this man?

Unaware – or uncaring of your inner turmoil, he keeps pressing. “cuz, hon, I seem to recall you saying you’d tell me exactly what you came here for at the end of the night.” His grin is somehow incredibly dangerous and childishly cheeky at the same time.

You tear your eyes away from his and pull back enough to get your bearings, determined to regain control of the situation. You had a line prepared and everything. No matter how disarmingly charming the damn skeleton was, you had come here on a mission, and you were going to fulfill it.

Once you feel sufficiently grounded again, you spare a side-glance at him, and grin a little at his expression, which is shifting toward irritation as you stay silent. “Hmm, now that you mention it, I do remember saying something like that,” you concede. “But like I said earlier… I’m sure you know the reason already.” Now you’re the one leaning into him, brushing a hand over his chest and shoulder, up his neck, and trailing down his jaw with a single finger. Your perfectly practiced smile widens, and you can hear the mixture of lust and amusement in your voice when you finally say, “I came here for _you,_ bone boy. And I intend on having you.”

As you expected, he doesn’t even have the decency to feign surprise. “ya know, sweetheart, i coulda sworn you’re what some people might call a whore. you really sure you’re in a position to be making demands right now?”

“I’m not interested in money,” you tell him scornfully. “Sure, it’s a nice bonus, but I don’t really care about it. And for you… well, let’s just say I’m willing to forego the fee.” And with that, you reach out a hand to stroke his ribs over his shirt, gambling on their sensitivity.

You hear him bite back a moan at your confident touch, and his hand flies down to encircle your wrist, pulling it up to his face so he can… is he _smelling_ your hand? You’re both fascinated and aroused at his unexpected action, and steadily leaning towards the latter as he pries his mouth open to reveal what can only be called fangs, which he presses into the soft flesh of your hand.

“you’re playing a dangerous game here, _ava._ ” he rumbles, his voice caressing the vowels of your false name. You feel something cool and distinctly wet lave over and between your fingers, and your eyes widen as you watch a tongue materialize from nothing in the black emptiness of his mouth. Your eyes flick up to his incredulously, and you realize with a shiver that the blue of his tongue is the same blue of the magic that’s begun to flicker in his left eye.

“hold onto me.” His voice brooks no argument, and you don’t resist as he gathers you up, winding an arm around your waist. Suddenly, everything disappears into blackness, and you squeeze your eyes shut reflexively as the feeling of reality unraveling swirls around you.

Then, as swiftly as it came, it’s over. You open your eyes cautiously to see a place that is very distinctly not Grillby’s. It’s an apartment, a pretty nice apartment in fact, tastefully decorated, only marred by a pile of laundry on an armchair. Yes. Let’s focus on that, rather than the fact that Sans apparently has the ability to fucking teleport.

You don’t even realize how unsteady your legs have suddenly become until he shifts beside you and you nearly topple over. He catches you, of course, and holds you more tightly to his side, laughing uneasily. “uh… sorry about that. it can be a little rough if you aren’t used to it.”

You swallow. “Well. Yes. You could say that.” Then, for some reason, you burst out in giggles, leaning heavily on Sans and wrapping your arms around his neck.

He looks… well, he looks bemused, is the only word for it, and the unfamiliar expression on a face you’ve only ever seen grinning confidently makes you laugh even harder, until tears are sliding down your cheeks and he’s practically holding your entire body weight.

“S-sorry! I didn’t mean to –“ but you’re still laughing at the absurdity of it all, of seducing a mobster skeleton monster and getting hung up on his magical abilities.

When you finally calm down, what feels like several minutes later, you wipe your eyes and smile up at him. He still has a little of that bemused look on his face, but most of it has been replaced by something not far off from lust.

“ya done?” he asks, and his voice is deep and aroused but not just that, it’s almost _incredulous_ in a way you can’t quite put your finger on, so you just nod instead of risking it by opening your mouth.

He smiles, and it’s the most genuine one you’ve seen all night, and it sends a thrill up and down your spine, pooling in your cunt. “never met anyone like you, ava,” he says, catching a stray tear left over from your laughing fit on his thumb and wrapping his tongue around it sinuously. Oh god, you can feel the wetness pooling in your panties, the mood shifting so swiftly it leaves you breathless.

He leans in, close, closer, until his face is almost touching yours. A hand grips your hip. “so you want _me,_ do you?” He waits until you realize he wants an answer, and you nod shakily. “looks like you’ve got me, then. what are you gonna do about it?”

You breathe in. He smells like magic, a storm, alcohol, and the ketchup you saw him drinking earlier. His eye lights are intensely bright and small, watching your face as you are watching his. His teeth are slightly parted.

You kiss him, mouth open and licking at his teeth. He sighs into your mouth, and you feel his tongue sliding against yours. It’s not like kissing humans, or even like kissing most monsters. He has no lips, so it’s hard for him to reciprocate, but the feeling of his tongue in your mouth and the taste of his saliva more than makes up for it.

But he tires of kisses quickly. He pushes you back, into the door, and shoves his face deep into your neck, mouth open and biting roughly at the soft flesh there. You run your hands over his ribs again and lock your arms around his neck, moaning a little at the feeling of him nipping and licking at you. Pinned as you are against the door, there is nowhere for you to go when he grinds firmly into you, and you feel something hard and hot pressing into your crotch. Honestly, you aren’t as surprised as you maybe should be. After witnessing him conjure a tongue from nothing and literally teleport you across town, a cock doesn’t seem quite as shocking anymore. No, now you’re just aroused, and you unhook your hands from around the back of his skull to scrabble at the buttons of his shirt.

He bites viciously at your neck one more time, soothing the sting with flicks and strokes of his hot tongue, and straightens up to remove your hands from his shirt. You’re about to protest when you seem him unbuttoning it himself, and the words die in your throat as you watch his ribcage come into view. It’s foreign and familiar at the same time, the same structure as the anatomical models you saw in school, but the ribs vastly thicker and sturdier looking; the bones seeming almost fused together with no tendons or muscles to hold them in place. With his shirt off, you can see the slight glow of bright blue magic inside his ribcage. You know that monsters are made of magic, but never have you seen one who is so obviously dependent on it just to stay together.

He drops the shirt off to the side carelessly, but before you can say or do anything, he’s pulling up on your dress, clearly as frustrated with it as you were with his clothing.

“No,” you say, forcing the word past your awe and nervousness and lust, and he looks taken aback and drops his hand. But you’re already turning around and lifting your hair. “It unzips in the back,” you say, and he hesitates for a moment before you feel him unzipping you. The pace of his breathing increases as the smooth brown planes of your back come into view, but you don’t hurry as you slip the sleeves down over your arms and step out of the dress.

When you turn back around to face him, the look on his face nearly floors you. It’s an almost dangerous expression, one that makes him look much less like a charming skeleton, and much more like the _monster_ that monsters are supposed to be.

Somehow, you’re not afraid at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm aware I said this chapter would be explicit. Sorry, I had to split it up after realizing this chapter was already several hundred words longer than the first one. The actual smut will be happening next chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh. Sorry about the wait on this chapter. I could give you like a dozen excuses but it mostly boils down to college. Also, there's like a whole other part to this scene that I elected to move to next chapter since this was already ~3k words. So bad news, you don't get full-on ecto-dong deliciousness this chapter. Good news, more smut next time! Hopefully not over a month from now, too.
> 
> Also, sorry to anyone who prefers a reader-insert, but that's just not this story. Ava's been my OC for a really long time, she's got a full fleshed out backstory, appearance, personality, and that's not going anywhere. If I end up writing this whole thing, her name and personal character is not gonna get any less relevant. Luckily, there are literally thousands of other stories for you to read if you prefer a faceless, anon-type reader.

“Kiss me,” you say, because there’s a strange feeling rising in your chest and you need it, need that closeness.

He kisses you. Again, it’s nothing like a human kiss. But somehow, the spark of magic against your lips as he presses his teeth to your mouth is almost better. When his jaw opens and his tongue flicks at your lips, you open to him willingly, and he sighs into your mouth. You wonder for a split second at it – no lungs, no breath, but sighs? – but are very suddenly and pleasantly interrupted at the feeling of his fingers tweaking your nipples through your bra.

Then he stops.

When you realize he’s not just pausing momentarily, a whine slips past your lips and you glare petulantly at him. “Why did you stop?”

“ava,” he says. “i want you to do something for me.” His hands are still on your breasts, and honestly, you couldn’t care less what he wants right now, as long as he keeps touching you.

“Fine, what the hell is it?” you say irritably.

He grins dangerously. “take off your wig.”

What.

How is he so goddamn observant?!

You’ve been wearing a wig in public for years now. You’re much too vain to dye your hair, but your natural color is conspicuous enough that you feel the need to cover it with something less… ostentatious. A high-quality wig was one of your first purchases with the money you made, and you’ve collected quite a few ever since. No one has ever noticed before, let alone insisted that you take it off.

“I don’t – what – why?” you finally sputter out.

“cuz, doll. i wanna see what you really look like.”

You look at him searchingly. He doesn’t flinch or look away, watching you just as intently as you struggle with the decision. On the one hand, showing him your real hair is… well, it’s scary. You’ll be showing him a part of yourself that no one has seen in years. On the other hand, there’s something about Sans that makes you want to trust him, something that’s pulled you to him since the moment you saw him in the bar. Plus, you reason, it’s not like the information would be of any use to him. No one who knows you now has seen you without the wig on, and those who knew you when you didn’t wear it… well, he’s certainly not likely to be meeting them.

That’s it, then. With no good reason not to, and your core throbbing insistently, demanding you do whatever it takes to get him in you, you’re really going to do it. Hesitantly, you reach up to your scalp and remove the pins hidden around the base of the wig. Deep breath. You slide it off.

You watch his expression shift as your real hair comes into view. It’s still somewhat hidden, compressed beneath a mesh cap to ensure it stays out of view, but even before you take off the cap, he looks almost astonished. And when you do take it off, letting your mass of white curls spring free, you could almost laugh at his expression if you weren’t so nervous.

“welp.” He coughs, another strangely human gesture. “i mean, i knew you had to be wearing a wig for a reason, but, uh… wow.”

You manage a wry smile. “Yeah. It’s pretty unusual. Runs in the family, I guess. Kind of a liability, more than anything, especially in my line of work.”

“i see what you mean. you seem like the type to want to keep a low profile.” He takes the pins, cap, and wig from you and sets them on the top of the dresser next to you. Your eyes follow him anxiously, until the feeling of a hand other than your own running through your hair catches your attention abruptly. The sensation of him pulling at your scalp when his fingers catch briefly on a tangle is enough to make you shudder. His gaze sharpens.

“gotta say, though… don’t think I’ve ever met a human quite as _enticing_ as you before, and your hair… well, it certainly doesn’t make me wanna fuck your brains out any less.” Your eyes, which have fluttered shut as he continues playing with your hair, shoot open at his sudden boldness. You find yourself speechless, but he keeps talking, his eyes boring into yours. “in fact, it kinda makes me curious. kinda makes me want to take my hand and just curl it around your scalp. pull on you a little, see what reaction i get.”

He punctuates the last word with a harsh tug, forcing your head down and to the side. The sudden stab of pain rushes down your spine and pools in your panties, and you gasp, hands coming up to pull at his wrists, unsure whether you want him to stop or keep going.

“knew it.” He keeps his grip firm with one hand, but the other lifts your chin as he kisses you again, mouth hard and tongue delving into you immediately. You can’t help it, you moan, and he swallows your noises with a pleased hum. “what do ya want, ava? what do you need? tell me, sweetheart.” His voice is low and rough and you squirm against his hands, wanting to tell him but not sure if you can say it. It’s been so _long_ since you’ve felt this way with someone, felt this kind of desire. You know how to play the part of a whimpering, submissive slut to a T, but you can’t remember the last time you actually _wanted_ to submit. You can feel the tension of all those days and weeks constantly on edge, searching for threats, for the next crisis, knotting in your belly, aching to be free. Just for a little while. Just for tonight. Tomorrow, you can go back to being Ava, to being strong and always knowing what to do and say – but tonight, you want to be yourself. Just yourself.

“Please…” is all you can get out.

His grip tightens in your hair. “what. do. you. need?”

You have to swallow and force your eyes to focus on him. He’s watching you with a fierce intensity. Somehow, you’re sure he already knows the answer.

“Please,” you almost whisper. “Call me by my real name.” His expression shifts. He’s grinning, he looks so satisfied you would be irritated, but there’s something else in that smile, too, something you’re not sure you have a name for. Tenderness? Protectiveness? Trust?

“that’s what i thought. tell me, baby. tell me who you really are and i’ll take care of you. i’ll keep you safe.” The words, hot in your ear, are nearly a croon, and the last remnants of your resistance melt away.

You can’t hold his gaze. “Z-Zahra. My name is… I’m Zahra.”

“zahra,” he breathes. “zahra, zahra,” tasting the vowels and syllables, testing the feeling of you in his mouth. “mine. you’re mine tonight, zahra. i’m gonna make you feel so good.”

He pulls you off the wall, leading you swiftly through the small living room, down a hall, into a room that must be his. It’s more sparsely decorated than you would have guessed, containing nothing but a dresser, a chair, and a bed, the last of which is unmade and rumpled. He is clearly single, a fact that gives you a feeling you’re not sure you want to examine right now. You’d much rather focus on his steady hands pressing you into the mattress, on the sight of him undoing his belt and pulling his pants down, on the broadness of his femurs and the distinct bulge in his underwear.

Your confidence is returning. This is something you know how to do. You crawl toward him, reaching for his cock, but he stops you with a hand on your face. When you look up at him indignantly, he looks almost amused.

“i don’t think so, doll. this is about you right now. take off your underwear.”

You obey, but you’re still confused. “You don’t want me to suck you off?”

As your breasts fall out of your bra and your pussy, already glistening slightly from your arousal, comes into view, his breath catches. He lets it out in a low moan that sinks into you with a shiver. “not tonight, baby. when i cum, it’s gonna be deep inside that little cunt of yours. but for now, get on your back. i wanna taste you.”

Oh, god. Yes please. You scramble backwards, making him laugh as you lay down and spread your legs, watching as he removes the last of his clothing. His cock is different from the other monsters you’ve fucked, you think, which makes sense, since he’s a skeleton. Instead of being made of flesh, or whatever else the monster in question happened to be made of, his is almost jelly-like in appearance. That, and it’s blue, which must be the color of his magic. It doesn’t look quite human, either, from what you can see, as miscellaneous bumps and ridges mar its otherwise smooth surface.

You only realize you’re staring when he speaks and you start slightly. “enjoying the view?” he asks wryly, and you stutter for a moment before you can get out a real answer.

“Ah. Yeah. Can you… tell me if this is a rude question, but can you make it look… however you want?”

He barks out a surprised laugh. “uh, sure. are you saying you don’t… like it?” (And there it is again, you note automatically. That strange insecurity that reveals itself every once in a while, so opposed to how he acts the rest of the time.)

“No! No, I definitely like it. I mean, are you sure you don’t want a blowjob? Because I’d be happy to. But I guess I was just curious, mostly. Would you… change it, if I asked you?”

He thinks for a second. “yeah, i guess so. what did you have in mind?”

“Nothing. Nothing, really. It’s just… I can… I can take more, you know. If you warm me up first, anyway,” you add hastily.

He stares at you for a second before his grins curls into something truly wicked.

“oh, i see. little whore’s not satisfied with any old cock, is she? she needs something thick and long, something that can give her a _real_ fuck, the kind of fuck a whore like you needs. isn’t that right, zahra, you slut?” As he speaks, his cock lengthens and thickens to a truly intimidating girth, until you almost regret asking at all. But it’s too late now, he’s crawling up the bed towards you, oh god is it even going to fit? And still, the thought of him stretching you out, until you’re taut and twitching and aching all around him, sends another jolt of energy straight down to your clit, and you can hardly wait for him to just get in you already.

But he stops with his face hovering over your crotch, and you suddenly remember what he said earlier. He wanted to taste you. And clearly, he still does.

“but even whores like you need a little warming up _._ ” He has a point, and you’re hardly dreading the thought of his sinuous tongue on you. You buck your hips a little, up toward his jaw, where you can see a blue glint between his teeth.

Immediately, his hands move toward your hips and press them firmly, back down into the mattress. “i don’t think so. you want something, you beg for it. so tell me, _pet._ what do you want?” His tone is low and fierce, and sparks an unfamiliar desire deep in your belly. You find your mouth opening to answer his command without a thought.

“Please – please, Sans. Put your mouth on me. Fuck me with your tongue, I want it so bad, please, I need to cum!” You’re breathing heavily, unsure if you pleased him but desperate and sincere meaning behind every word.

He’s watching you, smile wide and pleased. “what a good girl you are, begging for me so well. isn’t that right, zahra? you’re my good girl, aren’t you?”

“Y-yes,” you say, nearly choking on your words and the frantic arousal curling in your abdomen. “Please. I’ll… I’ll be good. Please... sir?” Your voice goes up drastically, afraid you’ve crossed a line but not knowing how else you could make him give you release, and in the end, the word falls from your mouth with a pleasant shudder.

It seems as if you’ve surprised him again, somehow, and his eyes are wide as he just looks at you for a few moments. Then, without warning, his tongue sweeps over your folds, swirls around your engorged clitoris, and you’re lost. The breath whooshes out of you in a guttural, choked-out moan as he drinks from you, nuzzling at your pussy briefly before thrusting his tongue within you. It’s hot, much hotter than it felt in your mouth, and molds to your passage even as it forces you open, massaging every inch of your canal. He moves one of his hands from its death grip on your hip to play at your clit, and if you could open your eyes to watch him, you’d see him looking back at you, eyes sharp but filled somehow with an unknowable emotion.

You’re gripping the sheets so hard you’re afraid you’ll tear holes in them. Your head is thrown back, your mouth wide open as moan after moan falls from you. Every time you adjust to the size of his tongue, it seems to expand within you, until it’s hardly a tongue at all, becoming something more like a tentacle as it writhes and twists in and out and over your pussy. Through it all, his circling finger never stops its relentless track around your hard and almost unbearably sensitive clit, and the sensations combined have you rocketing toward orgasm at a pace rarely matched even by yourself.

Finally, he pulls away slightly, just enough to get a few words out, somehow unmuffled by the continued ministrations of the tentacle that’s still ravenously fucking away. “you gonna cum, doll? you gonna cum all over my face?”

You’re gasping, but you force the word out when his finger pinches your clit harshly, disapproving of your silence. “Yes!” you nearly shout, and it’s true, you’re _so_ fucking close, just a little longer -

“you’re such a good girl. that’s right. cum on my mouth. cum.”

And his finger keeps swirling, and his tentacle twists and stretches within you, and with a wail, you do, you cum hard, juices flowing all over his face and back arching harshly off the bed. He milks you through it, tentacle slowly diminishing in size as he rolls it within you, finger on your clit slowing, finally to a stop as your orgasm abates.

You just lay there for a minute, eyes closed and breathing heavy. The near-silence is broken eventually by his deep voice, laughter and a deep smugness in his tone.

“i told you i’d show you a good time,” he chuckles, and you open your eyes to peer down at him with as much distaste as you can muster.

“I’ve had better,” you finally say, although you can’t think of any at this exact second. He doesn’t seem to be subdued in the slightest.

“yeah? that so? guess I better keep practicing, huh?”

You laugh, real and loud. “I mean, I certainly wouldn’t say no.”

He crawls up, over your body until you’re face to face, his eyes boring into your own. “i’ll keep that in mind,” he says, but his voice is quiet and you can feel the evidence of his arousal cool and firm against your thigh. You reach down to grasp at it, but he catches your wrist and gathers it with your other, holding them above your head.

“so, baby. you still wanna do this?”

“Oh god yes,” you say in a rush. “Please, I want to feel you in me so bad.”

He laughs a little. “trust me, sweetheart. i’m coming. but if I recall correctly,” and his hand comes up suddenly to grasp at your hair again, pulling on it with the same force he did before, “you’ve got a little thing for pain. am i right?”

Despite your experience, despite the intimacy of what you’ve already done together, despite everything, you still flush a little. “U-um, yeah. I do.”

“that’s what i thought. so, what, you want me to hit you, baby? you want me to hold you down while i fuck you into the mattress? you wanna be my little whore?”

Your eyes nearly roll back in their sockets. “Y-yessssss….” You choke out. Suddenly his hands are gone from your wrists and holding your face firmly, forcing you to look at him.

“what’s your safe word, sweetheart?” he asks you seriously, and even through the fog of your lust, you can’t help but be thankful for his considerateness.

“R-red,” you tell him, and he smiles again at you with a surprising degree of softness.

“you ready?”

And for what feels like the first time in a very long time, you are. So you smile just as wide back at him, and say, “Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who's curious, Zahra's hair would look a little something like [this](http://hmp.me/amok) when fully floofed and done up and all that jazz. Since it's been under a wig for hours, it's much flatter and less put-together looking during this scene.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://syzygykitty.tumblr.com/)


End file.
